Things I'd like to share with you
by Bookjunk
Summary: When Gale volunteers for Peeta, Katniss has trouble reconciling herself with how events unfold. AU.
1. Kisses

**Things I'd like to share with you**

**Chapter 1: Kisses**

'All these kisses I need to share with you.'

_I was up on the podium. My heart was racing. When Peeta Mellark's name was called, I had just enough time to think, _not him_, before Gale stepped forward and volunteered. _

_This probably makes me a terrible person, because Gale was staring at me fiercely and I should have been grateful, but all I could feel was rage. As he walked towards me and mounted the steps, my fury at his stupidity only increased._

_We had an agreement. My name comes up: he takes care of my family. His name comes up: I take care of his family. Who would do that now? I saw the question reflected in my mother's worried expression._

_It would have been one thing if both our names had gotten drawn. Bad luck. A cruel twist of fate. But that didn't happen. I _had_ to volunteer. He didn't have to, but, idiotically, did anyway. _

'_What are you doing?' I hissed at him, when he was close enough to hear. Gale didn't respond. Now we were probably both dead and our families would starve. What the hell was Gale thinking?_

_I scanned the crowd. Prim was crying and my mother was unsuccessfully trying to comfort her. That was not something I wanted to see, so I quickly turned away. Hazelle looked simply stunned by this turn of events. _You and me both_, I bitterly thought. I knew that Rory and Vick and Posy must be experiencing the same confusion. Gale had effectively abandoned them. While Effie blathered on about how great it was to have two volunteers, I searched for something to look at that wouldn't make me cry. My eyes came to rest on Peeta._

_He was arguing with his father. It was difficult to see what exactly was going on, but his father seemed to be holding him back. Then Peeta suddenly looked up and our gazes locked. His face mirrored my inner struggle. Relief or anger? He appeared to have a hard time deciding what to feel too. Yet, there was something else there in his eyes. An emotion I couldn't place._

(***)

Stop it, Katniss, I admonish myself. But I can't help it. Those days keep haunting me, because things could have been different.

(***)

_After the ceremony, I instructed Prim and my mother on what to do. Prim tried very hard not to cry. After them, Madge came. She gave me a pin. I fingered it, while my mind kept going over food. Food that Prim and my mother and Gale's family would no longer have, because we would no longer be around to provide it. Why had Gale done it? What had possessed him? _

_Expecting no one else, I allowed myself to feel the fear that I had been ignoring. I was going to die. Gale was going to die. And it was completely unnecessary. My death, but Gale's even more so. The anger overtook my fear. That felt better._

_The door opened and Peeta came into the room. There was a large bruise forming under his ear that looked painful. With a terse nod, we acknowledged each other._

'_I'll take care of your family,' he blurted out. I frowned. _

'_Shouldn't you make this offer to Gale? He's the one who volunteered for you,' I pointed out. He shot me a strange look, before explaining that he'd already made the same promise to Gale. This was the second time that Peeta would be doing me a favour. I didn't think that I would ever get another chance, so I politely thanked him. _

_He lingered by the door and wished me luck before leaving. No matter how much I hated to admit it, I thought that his promise meant nothing. What could he do? He was just a baker's son and his mother certainly wouldn't allow him to give bread away for free. This train of thought sparked my fury at Gale again. I tried to envision myself in his position, but I couldn't imagine reacting similarly. If his name had been drawn, I wouldn't have volunteered to go with him. _

(***)

Anger. It seems that whenever I think of Gale I become angry. Older memories, from years before the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games changed everything, are different. We could have had more memories, if he hadn't volunteered. Or rather, _he_ could have had more memories, because without his help I don't think I would have survived the Games. That doesn't make me less angry, though. No, absurdly, it makes me even angrier.

(***)

_I never misunderstood his intentions. Gale had entered the Games to keep me alive. The story Haymitch and Gale fabricated was that Peeta was his best friend and that was why he had volunteered. For some reason, Peeta played along in the interviews._

_Thus, when Gale teamed up with the Careers, I wasn't surprised. It wasn't until it was just Gale and me that the surprise came. He wanted me to kill him. I don't know why I was so surprised. After all, there could be only one victor. Gale had done his best to narrow the field and now there were only the two of us left. One of us had to die._

_Of course, I refused. That was when he told me what he had done._

'_I knew you couldn't kill Rue, so I did. Don't look like that, Katniss. You're going to win.'_

(***)

Every time I look at Prim, I see Rue.

When Gale said that he'd killed her, I didn't believe him. The footage doesn't make it any easier to believe. Seeing Gale take Rue's life and vanish before I arrive. Too late to save her. Too late to do anything but sing while she dies. I don't understand how he could have done it.

(***)

_My refusal to believe the truth exasperated him. He sighed, before dipping his hand into his pack. My gaze followed the motion, until he distracted me by touching my cheek with his other hand. It was a strangely tender gesture. His voice dropped as he tried to explain his actions._

'_This is what the Hunger Games do, Katniss. They make you kill children to survive. They make you think only of yourself. Well, I care about myself, but I care about you too. I've fought; I've killed so that you can live and I'll be damned if I let them force me into killing you. Fuck President Snow and the Capitol and the Games. I love you.'_

_That was when he consumed the berries. Night lock. He knocked them back, barely chewed on them. He must have known I would have stopped him if he had told me what he was planning._

_Shocked, I kneeled by his side as he fell. It didn't take long. I held his hand throughout. The sound of the canon almost shattered me. My fingers released his and fumbled with my pin. I pinned it to his dirty clothes. Then I kissed him, maybe hoping that I would ingest some of the poisonous berries myself and die too. That was not an option, however. _

(***)

Curling up and dying still seems preferable to living, but I can't do that. So I am angry. I hunt. I relive. Nearly every night brings me the Games. Rue's death. Gale's sacrifice. The only half-way decent dream associated with the Games is the one of my return to District 12.

(***)

_As I embarked from the train, I immediately spotted Prim and my mother. They were looking good. Not as good as they could have looked, but good enough. I hugged Prim. She felt frail and thin. She hugged me back with surprising strength._

'_You look... How?' I stammered. She smiled and indicated Peeta._

'_I showed him where you keep your bow. He's much better than me, but not as good as you.'_

_He had kept his promise. Awkwardly, he waved at me. I remembered how I had thanked him, coldly, not believing that he could actually help. Now I owed him even more. I approached, tentatively._

'_Thank you,' I mumbled, attempting to avoid his gaze. When I finally met his clear blue eyes, there was that something again. I couldn't quite explain it, except to say that it shouldn't have been there. As if I had done him a favour, instead of the other way around. It unnerved me, the way he looked at me._

_I don't think he had heard me. Words weren't sufficient, anyway. Not knowing how else to thank him, I kissed him. It reminded me of kissing Gale, of Gale dying, of the slaughter of innocents. I pulled away._

(***)

That is a happy memory. I have so few of them left now, that I can't afford to be picky. My family and Gale's family are okay; that is good enough for me.

Sometimes I don't sleep, because no sleep means no dreams. I did sleep tonight, so I am covered in sweat. I should get up. I need to hunt. Wash off the nightmare, if there is time. It is hard, getting out of bed. You'd think I would be glad to get away from my bed, which has become a dreaded place, but often I have no desire to face the day.

In the morning, I wake up, only because I have to. For the people who depend on me.

'Did you dream about the Games?' Prim asks, startling me. Sometimes she sleeps with me, though it is not as it was before. Frequently, I scare her with my screams. I nod.

The Hunger Games make everyone involved a little less human, I think. It doesn't matter whether you participate or merely watch. Every kill is a blow to your humanity. As I contemplate this, I catch Prim staring at me.

'What?'

'You yelled his name again,' she whispers.

I stiffen and silence her with a harsh look. She flushes and leaves before I can apologise. I don't want to be reminded of the Games. Prim knows this. That's no excuse for my behaviour, but perhaps it is an explanation.

For the first time, I wonder which name I always call out in the dark: Gale or Peeta. The one I lost or the one I found.

(***)

Author's note: The title of the story and the (slightly modified) quotations at the beginning of every chapter come from a little booklet called 'Things I'd like to share with you' written and illustrated by Rachel Sender.


	2. Buttercup

**Chapter 2: Buttercup**

'Pet an ugly cat with you.'

I arrive later than usual. It's my fault, but the alternative is to have Peeta help me with hunting, so I don't mind. I owe him too much as it is. It's not as if I am alone. The Games are in my thoughts and Gale is always with me.

Prim knows not to mention his name, as does Peeta. Hazelle sees how every reminder of Gale causes me to flinch, so she tries. But how can she_ not_ talk about her own son? The same goes for his younger siblings. Thus, when I bring them meat, I bite my lip and bear it.

The windows of the house are dark. If I'm lucky Prim and mother are already asleep.

I sneak in. The house feels strange. Not from a survival perspective, an instinct that was honed during the Games. It's a general strangeness that refuses to disappear no matter how long I live here. It's not home.

There's food laid out for me on the kitchen table. I should eat. Prim regularly remarks that I'm too skinny and I don't want her to worry. The thought of eating fills me with repulsion, however. Sleep is no different. Nonetheless, I make my way to my room.

The scene I encounter makes me irrationally angry. Peeta is in my bed. Prim's head leans heavily against his shoulder as she sleeps. Buttercup is curled up on his stomach.

As I watch them, I try to decide what makes me angry. There are so many reasons to choose from. I'm like a nest of tracker jackers, each mutated wasp another reason, and they are all furiously buzzing and crawling over each other. It is difficult to define what exactly is bothering me.

'Hi,' Peeta says, quietly; so as not to wake Prim.

Gently, he holds Prim away from his body, while he gets up. Buttercup protests by jumping onto the bed. Peeta lays my sister back down without disturbing her sleep. The cat manages a half-hearted hiss in my direction before stretching out against Prim's warm back.

One look at my face is enough for Peeta to know what mood I am in. It's the cat, I decide. The stupid cat. Why does he like Peeta? Why does everyone like Peeta?

'Is it about him?' he asks, when we leave the bedroom. He doesn't mean Buttercup. I don't want to talk about Gale. We haven't yet and I don't plan on starting now. Discussing Gale with Peeta feels wrong. Somehow a great deal more wrong than discussing Gale with anyone else. In the kitchen, Peeta notices the untouched meal, but doesn't comment. Good. I don't need him to take care of me.

'That cat doesn't like anyone except Prim and you,' I scoff. It's not much of a response. It's not much of anything. The air inside seems to smother me. I don't know whether it truly is this hot and muggy or if I'm only imagining it. The distinction hardly matters: it feels smothering. Peeta follows me outside, where I don't feel as if I'm suffocating.

'But it is about him?' he asks again. I don't see what Gale has to do with this. I'm pissed off because Buttercup likes Peeta. Buttercup didn't like Gale. There's no connection. The wasps shift and reveal something. I spin around so fast that Peeta takes a step back.

'Everyone thinks I loved him, but I hate him,' I grit out.

Is that true? I don't know. I don't know anything these days. Patiently, Peeta waits for me to elaborate. After a few moments of futile consideration, I repeat, 'I hate him.'

I still can't figure out whether or not it is true. It feels true. It feels good to finally say. It feels awful. It feels ungrateful. I'm too angry to reflect on it rationally.

'That must be easier,' Peeta observes. His tone is detached. Deliberately so. He has not asked me about Gale before, especially not to the point of almost forcing me to discuss him when I clearly have no interest in doing that. The topic is obviously painful for him too; I can see it in his eyes. Because Gale took his place in the Games, I guess. Yet, instead of avoiding it, it seems important to Peeta that I talk about Gale.

'What is?'

'To dislike him. He's dead,' he says.

'You don't need to remind me,' I snap.

'Imagine if you did love him. How you would feel. This way you can be angry and not feel… whatever else you feel,' he explains.

It had never occurred to me before that my anger might be so big that there would be no room left for anything else, but I realise now that Peeta is probably right. How does he know these things? It is certainly not from experience. I doubt his anger is a match for mine. Honestly, I'm not sure if he is capable of real anger.

'You miss him.'

I sigh and turn away from him.

'Go home, Peeta.'

His footsteps are almost inaudible as he leaves and I suddenly think that if he set his mind to it Peeta could be an excellent hunter. He simply doesn't have the amount of practise I have. He hasn't learned the hard way that the sharp crack of a snapped twig can mean the difference between eating and starving.

The house is gloomy. Shadows are rapidly lengthening as night falls. In my room, I watch Prim sleep. She looks happy.

This is not a good time to go soft. The Victory Tour is not far off. Full of reminders of every horrible thing I have done. Full of footage of lost friends. Better if I continue to be angry with Gale. It makes having to lie to everyone about what he did easier.

(***)

The next day, I fall asleep in the woods. The combination of the familiarity of my surroundings and too many sleepless, dreamless nights are to blame. I wake up when I hear something, but when I listen closely I can't hear anything. What was it? A cry? A voice? It has stopped. I chide myself for my carelessness. Shaken, I resolve to sleep at night in the house from now on. This was stupid and dangerous and it can't happen again.

After hiding my bow and arrows, I crawl under the fence to the other side. Only after I've gotten to my feet and am a few steps removed from the fence do I realise that I have forgotten to listen for the telltale hum. I cannot believe how distracted I am today.

A soft rustling of leaves underfoot catches me off guard. It's Peeta. He is hidden in the shade, apparently waiting for me. I am relieved that he is not a Peacekeeper, but not by much. He surges forward and grabs my arm.

'Gale,' he says. It hits me harder than I could have imagined. I've gone so long without hearing his name. I barely have time to recover, before Peeta continues.

'He ate the berries on purpose.'

It's not a question. He knows. But how can he? Gale's act of defiance was never shown. His entire subversive speech was carefully edited out of the Hunger Games broadcast and I was instructed to pretend that he had eaten the night lock by accident. That has been the official story, up until now.

The truth must be written all over my face, because Peeta looks crestfallen.

'It is true then. He did it for you,' he whispers. He stares at me in that peculiar way of his. I've not yet seen him look at anyone else like that. It lasts a few seconds and then he regains his composure.

'Someone seems to have managed to infiltrate the Capitol's broadcasting system,' Peeta explains. He is calm when he adds that with intervals five second clips of Gale's last words were shown. It ended with a close up of the mockingjay pin. Most people have seen it and those who haven't have heard about it from others, he says.

_Oh no_, I think. Hazelle; she knows now that I have lied. Everyone knows.

'I thought you'd want to know. So that you can prepare yourself,' he says. Realising that he's still holding my arm, he lets go and backs away.

'Thank you,' I mumble. He quickly bids me goodbye. Soon he is gone and I am left standing there, horrified. He must think that I'm disgusting. To lie about something like that. Even if it was to protect my family.

I think I might have just lost Peeta too.


	3. Snow

**Chapter 3: Snow**

'I want to watch it snow with you.'

Gale is really everywhere. It is no longer enough that he is always with me, tangled up with the horrors of the Games. His name is on everyone's lips now. Because I spent such a long time avoiding it I am not prepared for the casual manner in which people suddenly talk about him. It is hard to stomach. I overhear snippets of his speech being repeated everywhere I turn.

The whispered words have everything and at the same time nothing to do with me. People look at me differently. In the Hob, I get more butter and white liquor from some, while others glare at me when I pass their stalls. The coins are heavy in my pocket.

Gone are the days when I brought in mangy squirrels to trade. Nowadays, I deliver everything I catch straight to the baker and Hazelle. Gale's mother says that she understands why I kept quiet, but she has trouble meeting my eyes. It's hard not to think that if they didn't need the food so badly she would refuse it. Simply because it comes from me.

I've thought about the broadcast. Despite the promise I made to myself, I haven't slept much in the last few days. I have been avoiding Peeta. I figure he doesn't want to talk to me, so I might as well assist. Also, I don't want to actually see him trying to avoid me. This all boils down to me having a lot of time to think.

What I've come up with amounts to next to nothing. Gale's speech was in itself an act of rebellion and airing it after the Capitol tried to cover it up is obviously another act of rebellion. Is someone trying to stir up a revolution? That is ridiculous, especially since only someone from the Capitol's inner circle could have known the footage existed _and_ had access to it.

My thoughts get me nowhere, but it's a hell of a lot easier to concentrate on the motives behind the broadcast than to examine my feelings about the content of the speech. The content is crystal clear. My feelings about it are not. They are a mystery I do not wish to dwell on.

(***)

I am quiet during dinner. I eat enough to satisfy Prim and my mother. Buttercup has gone missing again and he is usually at our old house. When I arrive there, he is nowhere to be found this time. I search around the back.

The Meadow seems ablaze in the dying light of the day. I pause to watch the sunlight paint the grass red. Little gold specks glitter. That must be the coal dust. I don't know how long I stand there before I hear someone approaching.

I shade my eyes from the sun and when I see that it is Peeta, I receive an unpleasant jolt. While I wait for him to turn around and leave, I scowl to mask my confusion. It's an expression that feels very much at home on my face, Peeta once said. Instead of leaving, however, he comes to stand next to me.

'Are you alright?'

He sound genuinely concerned. I sigh. I don't get Peeta at all. He didn't want to talk about Gale. He did it anyway. And now he's supposed to be mad that I lied to him, but he isn't. Why? Naturally, my inability to answer this question triggers my anger. I inhale deeply.

'Are you?' Peeta insists. Annoyed at his interruption, I forget to exhale slowly. So much for letting go of that anger.

'I am mad at you, because you should be mad at me,' I say. He smiles. It's an indulgent smile, as if I've got something between my teeth and he's about to tell me.

'Was there any kind of logic to that inside your head? 'Cause it lost a lot in translation.'

His amusement at my failure to express myself should fuel my anger, but I feel myself calm down. His smile is disarming. It is nice to see him happy.

'I don't understand you. How you can be like this. So...,' I hesitate before lamely finishing, '...kind.'

Glancing at him sideways, I am momentarily blinded by the light reflecting off his blond hair. I blink and squint. Kind is exactly the right word. Peeta considers this for a moment and then leans closer.

'It's not a choice. It's like you volunteering for Prim. You had to do that and I have to be like this. It's who we are.'

I don't know why this makes me sad, but it does. Perhaps because I am bereft of kindness. Perhaps because Panem does not value kindness. My mother is kind, but she knows not to go too far. Something tells me Peeta isn't capable of reining in his kindness. He is the type of person who extends it towards everyone, even people who don't deserve it.

'But it's meaningless,' I protest. His smile fades.

'According to you, caring is meaningless?' he asks. He sounds bewildered. A cold wind blows across the tall grass. Gale and I used to sit and talk here sometimes. Yes, caring is unproductive. Worse: it is dangerous. It wasn't Gale's kindness that kept him alive in the Games, but it _was_ kindness that killed him.

'It's as if you've grown up somewhere else. In a completely different place where you can afford the luxury of being nice,' I muse. In a way this is true. I doubt Peeta would have been so kind if he had been born in the Seam. A hard life makes you hard and so far Peeta has had an easier life than most people in District 12. On the other hand, his mother beating him didn't prevent him from giving me the bread so many years ago.

'Is that really what you think?' he inquires. I nod.

'You were kind too. To Rue,' Peeta points out. That snaps me right out of my philosophical state of mind.

'And she is dead,' I angrily retort. His profile is grim. He suddenly reminds me of Gale, which makes no sense. They could not be more unlike each other. He moves and the illusion is broken. What am I doing? I am being too familiar. I should not treat him as if he is a friend.

Stiffly, I promise to keep delivering part of my spoils to his father. Peeta marks the abrupt change in my behaviour. He is smart; he knows what it means. He did me a favour and I will continue to repay him, but we are nothing to each other. Nevertheless, Peeta accompanies me to the Victor's Village. We walk alongside in silence. Buttercup is scratching at the door. I let him in.

'Tomorrow,' Peeta states.

'Yes, I know.'

He starts to say something else, but seems to lose heart. I am growing impatient. The sun is rapidly disappearing and I have to face either another sleepless night or another nightmare. I want to find out which one sooner rather than later.

'What is it?' I say. There is a distance between us that was not there before.

'Even if you don't see it, you're kind. Taking Prim's place was kind. Singing for Rue was kind. Others have shown you kindness. Rue. District 11. Thresh. Gale. So, don't knock kindness, Katniss,' he says. Without waiting for a response, he takes off.

(***)

The Victory Tour. I have tried not to think about it, but I should rethink that method because so far it has yielded very poor results. At night everything I don't want to think about creeps up on me. Life is bleak after waking too, especially this morning. Today I'll have to go.

I've slept too late to still go hunting. Buttercup takes a swipe at me when I accidentally step on his tail. I snap at him. Prim, coming to his aid, yells at me. I snap at her. My mother defends Prim, which earns her another barb from me.

It is snowing. This does nothing to improve my foul mood. Soon Effie and my prep team will be here. I'll be poked and prodded and on top of that I'll have to pretend to be excited about this awful tour. What a great great great _great_ day.

Before I leave, Peeta ensures me that he'll take over hunting duties again. After the way I acted last night, I don't know how to react. He seems determined to be my friend, regardless of whether I am his friend. This brightens my day somewhat.

On the train, I try to steal a moment alone. I wait until all is quiet to slip out of my compartment. The glass of the window is cool against my skin. Rubbing my arms, I stare into the snowstorm. Being awake at night is only fun if someone is with you. I briefly allow myself to imagine someone standing next to me, watching the snow with me. What I get for my trouble is Haymitch. He staggers drunkenly out of his compartment and bumps into me.

'Trying to make a break for it?' he slurs. He leans on my shoulder.

'Something like that,' I say. I'm close to admitting that I was about to open a tiny escape valve in the form of my imagination, but the fumes that surround him almost make me gag. I breathe through my nose and steady him, before leading him to his compartment. It's a short but trying walk.

Thick snowflakes whirl passed the windows of the train. Reluctantly, I follow the darkened passageway and crawl into bed. I think about what I will say tomorrow. Peeta is right: I owe the people of District 11. A standard speech will not do. Not for Rue and Thresh's District.

I wish I had managed to conjure up someone to hold me steady.

When I realise that Peeta left himself out the night before, I sit up in bed. Where would I be without his kindness? Volunteering would have been fairly pointless if Prim had starved to death during the Games. I lie back down. It's just that kindness isn't a good survival strategy. Kindness kills. And I am still alive.


	4. Laughter

**Chapter 4: Laughter**

'Let's dance.'

The Victory Tour is practically over and I still can't believe half of the things that have happened. My speech about Rue and Thresh led to an uprising in District 11. Since the tension was palpable in each District I visited, I am sure that it was not entirely my doing.

The excitement, fear and anger that are the result of the illegal broadcast are visible in everyone. It's as if we needed Gale to remind us that, yes: the Capitol forces us to kill each other and serves it up as entertainment. It's not just the Games. Everywhere you look there is more evidence of the Capitol's cruel control over our lives.

Children starving. The fences that box us in like animals. The destiny that awaits us. Something is happening. I felt it in District 12 before I left. Now I don't have to wonder whether the other Districts are experiencing something similar. Gale was not one of them, but this feeling of wanting something better than what the Capitol offers us seems to transcend District boundaries.

While away, I have thought about Peeta and the things he said. His advice made my speech to District 11 sound far better than I ever could have managed on my own. Perhaps kindness isn't so bad. After all, my alliance with Rue didn't only serve to keep me alive; it also kept me human. And I'm not in the arena anymore. Yet, it's just so much easier to stay hard. Especially at home.

(***)

I wake up to the sound of my thumping heart. I feel tired, but it is a good tired. A tired of having done something, of hunting; instead of standing around at Capitol parties and talking about nothing.

Prim is already up. She subtly directs my gaze towards the kitchen table. Three cupcakes are displayed on a platter. They are decorated with little flames made of red, orange, and yellow frosting. We can't afford to spend coins on frivolity; we need everything for necessities. Still, they're very pretty.

'It's for your return,' Prim explains.

'They're nice,' I grudgingly admit. When I pick one of them up, its lightness surprises me. Bread is much heavier. One of them has already partly been eaten. I glance at Prim, who looks a bit guilty.

'That one's mine. They're yummy. Peeta said we could each have one.'

'Peeta?'

'Yes, he made them.'

Chagrined, I put the cupcake I am holding back on the platter. I try to hide my dismay from Prim, but I'm afraid that she knows me too well. She doesn't say anything when I sit down in the other room.

Why can't I know my own feelings? This back and forth is frustrating. One moment I'm afraid that I have lost Peeta and the next moment I want him out of my life. Now I am glad to be back in District 12 and he might actually be one of the reasons. What is wrong with me?

It starts to rain outside. I can hear the drops hit the roof and the walls and everything sounds so different. Not the way it is supposed to sound. Clenching my fists, I fight the feeling of helplessness that threatens to overtake me.

Buttercup should be here, inside, safe from the rain. I should be less angry, less emotional. The rain should be softer. We should hear it fall on another roof. A roof with leaks in our real home. Perhaps this is what the anger is about: even when life is the way it is supposed to be, it is never_ really_ the way it is supposed to be. The Capitol determines everything.

Case in point; the 75th Hunger Games, which is not something I want to dwell on. So, I don't. I've become quite good at that. That is new too. I push matters out of my mind, instead of dealing with them rationally.

'Look!' Prim cries out. She presses her nose to the window, fogging up the glass with her breath. Reluctantly, I join her.

Peeta is standing in front of the house. He is soaked to the bone. His blond hair is plastered to his scalp and his clothes cling to his body. It's not raining particularly hard, so he must have been out there a while. My first impulse is to ask him inside, but his strange behaviour gives me pause. He takes a step and stops. His mouth is moving; he seems to be talking to himself, debating something.

After a few seconds of deliberation, he walks up to the door and raises his hand, but drops it without knocking. He walks away and abruptly comes to a halt. Hesitantly, he turns back and takes a step towards the house again. Then he almost sits down before he notices the mud. That's when he seems to realise that it's raining.

This doesn't spur him into action, however. Peeta appears just as unsure about how to proceed as before. He keeps approaching the house, changing his mind at the last moment and retreating. I think he might have gone crazy in my absence.

'What is he doing?' I ask Prim. She watches him closely. Her elbows are propped up on the window sill and her chin rest on her hands. Mesmerised, she shakes her head almost imperceptibly.

'I don't know. He's funny.'

'He's going to catch a cold,' I reply. Suddenly, Peeta spots us watching him and freezes. Prim waves at him. I turn away from the window and grab my coat. The door falls shut behind me. It is chilly outside. Peeta doesn't move; he waits until I address him.

'What are you doing here?'

I try not to sound hostile, because I am not. I simply want to know why he came and what he is doing. He just looks at me. It's that look again. I have almost gotten used to it. Not quite, but I'm getting there. Nonetheless, I wish he'd stop doing that.

It makes me feel like a different person. Like a Katniss from before anything bad ever happened, which means I have to go back a long, long way. Finally, Peeta realises that he is supposed to say something. His gaze loses its intensity.

'The fence. I wanted to tell you that the fence is electrified.'

This information is accompanied by shivering and chattering teeth. I ponder the implications of the news about the fence. They are far reaching. Uprising, rebellions; I'm so sick of fighting. I'm not even the fighting kind; Gale was.

'Why are you always warning me?' I ask.

'I'm kind, remember?'

He smiles at me and it is impossible not to return the smile. He looks like a drowned cat. He is undoubtedly an idiot. He is also my friend.

'I saw you at the Capitol party. You looked beautiful,' he casually remarks. It is irritating how he manages to do that. Slip such a disturbing compliment into the conversation. Just when I've relaxed enough to let down my guard. Damn him. I am about to protest and attribute whatever beauty I may have possessed to the work of my prep team, but Peeta is too quick.

'Still do,' he says. 'Too bad you didn't dance. Why didn't you?'

So many reasons. My lack of grace. The restricting and revealing dress I had been wearing. How much I disliked most of the people present. My unease about being there. About being alive. About essentially celebrating the deaths of friends. I'm still thinking of an acceptable answer – one that doesn't make me sound unnecessarily bitter - when he takes my hand.

'Don't you want to come inside?' I try.

'I want to dance with you,' he responds. His blue eyes transform me into that other Katniss. A Katniss that doesn't mind how cold his fingers are. A Katniss that laughs when he twirls her around. A Katniss that doesn't think dancing in a faint drizzle is stupid. A Katniss that misses him when she goes away. I like this Katniss. Too bad she can't stay. Why can't she?


	5. Our place

**Chapter 5: Our place**

'There's a ledge we should sit on together.'

I spent my life becoming invisible. In the woods, moving soundlessly from tree to tree. In the Seam, trying not to attract any notice. Making sure that no one really sees you is the surest way of being left alone.

The Hunger Games changed all that. Everyone sees me now. But no one sees me as clearly as Peeta. To him I seem to be a light in the darkness.

Listening to the humming fence, I want. I want to hunt. I want to be out there where I'm invisible. I want to be Katniss-from-before-the-Games again.

'The fence is electrified,' Peeta points out. I whip around and react.

'I know. You told me. And I can hear. I'm not an idiot.'

I turn towards the fence and what lies beyond as it starts to rain. I want to sit on a ledge out there like before, without the emptiness of the place next to me troubling me. Right now even Peeta would do to fill it. I can't have what I want. I can't get that Katniss-from-before-the-Games back, because the Games are in me now. Poisoning me. Like night lock, but much, much slower. Drawing out my agony. Forever reminding me of what I have lost.

'We had a place,' I can hear myself say. I instantly hate myself for it, yet, I continue.

'Gale and me. A rock ledge overlooking the valley. We'd sit there.'

Everything is less and more wonderful than I make it out to be. The woods I long for never existed. They've been full of eyes since the day I was called Catnip instead of Katniss. I wasn't invisible there either.

'You didn't tell him how you felt,' Peeta says. It's not a question. Of course, it's difficult to talk about feelings when you're as wishy-washy about them as I am. Wishy-washy, unsure, unable to figure any of it out. Filled with regret.

'You can't replace him,' I assert.

'I'm not trying to. You have to accept you missed your chance with him,' he carefully suggests.

'I wish he hadn't volunteered.'

Upset, Peeta flinches. Well, why wouldn't he be upset? If Gale hadn't volunteered, Peeta would most likely be dead. I watch horrified as the hurt spreads across Peeta's face. That is definitely pain that I caused. Immediately, I open my mouth to take it all back, but Peeta beats me to it. Why is it that when I say the most horrible thing, he always has to respond by saying the kindest thing?

'I'm in love with you.'

'What?'

'I love you, so I wish I could have gone. I wish I could have protected you. Then he'd still be here. I love you.'

'Stop it,' I snap. Angrily, Peeta shakes his head.

'No. I love you,' he insists.

'What do you expect of me?' I ask. I'm quivering with rage. He is too.

'I expect nothing!'

'Yes, you do. You want me to love you back. Don't you think _I_ want to?'

Rain streams down our faces. We don't speak for the longest time. I think I might be crying. Maybe he can't see it in the downpour; I hope so.

'Alright,' he eventually says. 'That's alright.'

(***)

Before the 75th Hunger Games are announced, I swing by Peeta's house. It's cold and light. I wonder what I am. What does Peeta see when he sees me? A black bird stark against a white background? I thrust my apology at him as soon as he opens the door.

'I'm sorry about what I said.'

The words sounds abrasive. As if I'm trying to pick a fight again. I sigh. Around Peeta I'm reduced to reacting. It's annoying, to say the least. Like the look he's giving me now. As if I'm too bright to look at directly, but he can't bring himself to look away.

'I'm not,' he counters, grinning. I shrug, because what else can I do? Tell him that I'm ashamed that I don't have a heart he can break? He pulls the door closed behind him and falls into step beside me. We enjoy a few rare minutes without him professing his love for me in one way or another and me keeping my temper in check. It's peaceful.

The announcement of the Quarter Quell dashes everything.

President Snow selects an envelope and pulls out the card. His teeth glint. Peeta grabs my hand and squeezes. I allow the warmth of his strong fingers to flow through me. Snow reads the instructions. I freeze. My eyes search the crowd for Prim. She smiles bravely at me. I look up at Peeta to encounter the same smile.

'I'll protect her. Like Gale protected you,' he whispers. I can barely feel his touch. The announcement is clear. The last male and female saved by someone volunteering in their place must compete. Prim _and_ Peeta.

'Smile,' he urges, letting go off my hand. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I do it. For the cameras, for the Capitol, for President Snow, for everyone who dares to look at me in this private moment. I fake a smile, while I feel like I'm falling apart inside.

(***)

Author's note: Inspired by the song 'Nothing to remember' by Neko Case from the original Hunger Games soundtrack.


End file.
